


Down to the River (Ain’t No Second Guessing Remix)

by essenceofmeanin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Character Death, Episode: s03e11 Mystery Spot, First Time, M/M, but it's ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-07
Updated: 2008-09-07
Packaged: 2019-01-07 13:57:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12234267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/essenceofmeanin/pseuds/essenceofmeanin
Summary: There were many first times.





	Down to the River (Ain’t No Second Guessing Remix)

**Title:** Down to the River (Ain’t No Second Guessing Remix)  
 **Author:** [](https://essenceofmeanin.livejournal.com/profile)[**essenceofmeanin**](https://essenceofmeanin.livejournal.com/)  
 **Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Original story:** [The Dangers of Second Guessing](http://mona1347.livejournal.com/350858.html), written by [](https://mona1347.livejournal.com/profile)[**mona1347**](https://mona1347.livejournal.com/).  
 **Summary:** There were many first times.  
 **A/N:** This was such an amazing challenge. I was, at first, flabbergasted to see that I was not only assigned [](https://mona1347.livejournal.com/profile)[**mona1347**](https://mona1347.livejournal.com/) , but what was essentially my ultimate coda to Mystery Spot? Well. I wibbled for a few days until [](https://girlguidejones.livejournal.com/profile)[**girlguidejones**](https://girlguidejones.livejournal.com/) smacked me into shape. I'm glad she did. Mona, thanks for lettin' me play in your sandbox. It was truly a pleasure.

 

 

The first time it happens it’s raining outside, fat drops that sound like rocks falling on the roof. The day before Dean had died over and over and over again, but only in some pocket universe created by an ancient god so it didn’t really matter, right? Right. Sam has thought he’d reached the end of his limits before -- lots of times, actually – but this is different, he can’t stop watching Dean, and he’s so tired that he’s just well and truly _done._

Don’t say it’s just me, don’t you fucking dare lie to me like that.

Dean tries to run but he doesn’t lie to Sam. He’s never been able to in any way that matters once Sam stopped being stubborn and started paying attention. Sam shoves him up against the wall because he knows Dean will stay where he’s put when the choice is taken away from him. The way his mouth opens for Sam, the way he needs: Sam’s got it all memorized.

-

That wasn’t really the first time. The first time it happened, Sam started with a fight; couldn’t explain to his brother one more time what the fuck was going on when he didn’t know anything himself except that he was somehow the one in Hell instead of Dean. Stupid Dean, every morning a blank slate and fucking Asia, _dear God_ , Sam hates that song. Sam loves his brother so much that it chokes him every morning when he wakes up and knows that it’s another day that he can’t save Dean, another day that he’s gonna have Dean’s blood on his hands. Sam’s all tangled up and hasn’t eaten in God only knows how many Tuesdays and when he opens his eyes to see Dean singing again he sort of loses it.  
  
He throws himself fists-first at his brother and they go down in a tangle of sheets. Dean thinks he’s fucking around; Sam can feel him laughing. Sam’s in sweats still, no protection at all when one of Dean’s boots scrape against the back of his leg and Dean tries to kick him off. Sam’s messy, just shaking him and they _thump_ down into the dusty space between bed and wall. Dean gasps under his weight, the air whooshing out of him but his heart’s beating hard next to Sam’s. Sam’s not sure how it happens but they’re kissing between one moment and the next. Dean tastes like yesterday’s coffee but he’s so fucking alive under Sam that it’s the best thing in the world. Dean surges against him, his knees up around Sam’s hips and his jeans rough against Sam’s cock. Sam’s so hard he feels dizzy with it, tries to blink the sense back into the world but doesn’t get much of a chance for it. Dean shoves him off a half a heartbeat later and sends Sam sprawling on his ass.

Dean’s eyes are wide and desperate, his face flushed, and he’s gone before Sam can think of anything to say. He leaves the door swinging open on its hinges and this Tuesday’s over before Sam even has a chance to catch his breath. He’s selfishly glad he never knows how Dean died that day.

-

The other first times are easier. Sam’s too spun around to question this thing between them but he’s glad, usually, that he has a place to lose himself, to keep Dean with him and close by. He can’t let himself give up. Sometimes Dean backs away when Sam gets too near as if he already knows what Sam’s thinking. Sometimes Dean argues with him and sometimes Dean gives in with a hungry, hopeful look on his face. The first time Sam goes down on him Dean cradles the base of Sam’s skull in his palm and tugs on Sam’s hair when he gets too close to coming. The look in his eyes is open and unguarded, happy for the first time in months, and when he comes Sam swallows down every drop.

-

Every time it happens is like asking the same question and getting no answer, over and over and over again. The first time he spreads Dean open and pushes inside they’re leaned over the bathroom sink. The linoleum is cold on Sam’s bare feet. Dean braces himself on whatever he can grab, his hands slipping over the faucets, nails scraping against the cheap plywood drawers the harder Sam rocks into him. Sam’s hands leave smeared prints all over the bathroom mirror and bruises on his brother’s hips. He bites deep into the muscle by Dean’s spine, rubs his cheek against the fragile scapula to feel Dean’s chest shudder beneath him as Dean tries to catch his breath. It didn’t matter – Tuesday morning nothing was left to show.

-

Then it’s Wednesday. Sam waits and waits and waits to wake up. He dreams about that fucking song like he’s still caught in the Trickster’s insane loop. When Asia comes on the radio Sam slaps the dials, frantic, but even the buzzing silence doesn’t do anything to calm his jangled nerves. Sam would slip in an ACDC tape and jerk off later in the shower to memories of Dean’s hands. The image of Dean working Sam’s ass open with two fingers while he mouths along the length of Sam’s dick works just as well as the way his ring glinted while Dean sharpened the knives. It’s pathetic and Pavlovian and Sam doesn’t really care because it makes him come so hard his vision whites out, every time. He tells himself it’s a dream, over and over again, and keeps his guns and research and his own self neat and tidy because that’s about the only thing he can still control.

-

It’s Thursday again, and it’s Sam’s second chance. Or third, depending on which way he looks at it. Sam’s hands are shaking when Dean sucks his fingers into his mouth, his belly tied in knots to see Dean spread out beneath him. He’s tight enough around Sam’s dick that it almost hurts, makes him worry for Dean, but Dean’s sobbing _move, goddammit._ He says, _you’ve always had me._ Sam knows.  
  
He’s glad that Dean doesn’t ask _is this the first time_ even though he sees the question in Dean’s eyes. Sam wouldn’t even know what to say.


End file.
